Murky leaps over the pile of bones and dashes out the back of the restaurant. He looks left and right for Donny and his mother. Then up and down. He sees a bird squawking in a tree and shoots it. He catches a whiff of meatballs and murder in the air and runs to the corner where he spots the perps sprinting down a side street.
Donny huffs and puffs getting winded. His mother kneels down so he can hop on her 80 year old back. He yells at her to move faster and she does. Her legs as strong as ten horses with human legs. They cross main street sliding across car hoods in traffic and flipping Murky off behind them.
Murky’s detective eyes are distracted by the roaming soul pods backing up main street. He points to the soul crossing sign and demands to know, “Why aren’t you freaks using the crosswalk? My taxes or…uh something paid for that.”
Murky shoves a soul pod against a car and puts his pistol to its head. “You wanna die? Huh, punk? Because I can give you the number for a hotline if you need to talk to someone. You shouldn’t feel that way. You hear me, punk?”
Murky throws cuffs on the soul and tosses him on the curb when Sanchez finally arrives at the scene.
“I got tired of watching the oven back there. Figured you could use a partner. Your partner.”
Murky grabs a soul pod by the throat and looks at Sanchez. “You got scared. Didn’t ya?”
“No. I got bored.”
“Bored with a talking oven? Something you’re not telling me, Sanchez?”
“Thought you could use my help here. That’s all. Sorry if your brain is rotted and can’t comprehend that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just forget about it. I’m here. How can—“
“You’re here because you’re scared. Scared of talking appliances when I’m not around to protect you. Admit it.”
“That’s just not true. I can’t admit—“
“You can. It’s okay to ask for help. To admit weakness when you feel like you can’t breathe.”
The soul pod struggles in Murky’s grip and turns blue.
“I don’t feel weakness, Murk. I’m strong everywhere. Ask your wife.”
“Excuse me? Ask my wife? Do you see her? How can I ask questions to someone who’s not here?”
“I’m gonna arrest some soul pods. You should do the same. You’re killing—killed that one. Captain will be mad.”
Murky drops the limp soul pod and kicks it under a car.
“Captain won’t know.”
Murky chases soul pods with bullets into the handcuffs of Sanchez. They carry them off back toward the cemetery where they belong. The drivers cheer and honk as they free up traffic for the first time in centuries.
Murky and Sanchez enter the cemetery with the defeated soul pods. The stars roll out of bed and throw on their slippers five hours ahead of time to set the mood. The mood of death and decay not always suitable for the sun who makes a mockery of such institutions of unconditional joy and solitude.
“Hey, Murky where do you want —“
Sanchez disappears into an open grave.
“Help! Murk, I’m over here. Am I dead? I don’t want to be dead.”
“You’re not dead. But we can fix that.”
“Then why am I in a coffin?”
“Riddles. Don’t like ‘em.”
Murky shines his flashlight around Sanchez looking for clues. There’s no bones in the coffin with Sanchez. The soul pods slowly inch away from Murky.
“Wait here, Sanchez.”
Murky shines his light around the cemetery grounds and finds more open graves. He examines them with the mind of a bloody detective. A really bloody detective. Each one with an empty coffin.
The curious soul pods hover over the grave and begin kicking dirt on Sanchez.
“Murky! Hurry up! A little help over here.”
“Don’t worry. I figured it out. Donny and his mother. That old woman with legs as strong as ten horses with human legs. They’re grave robbers it would seem. I’m cracking this case open. With a crowbar. You can’t stop me, Sanchez. No one can stop me.”
Murky runs off into the night tripping over tombstones and fumbling with his flashlight. “No one can stop me, Sanchez!”
The soul pods laugh as they continue kicking dirt on Sanchez, burying him alive.
“Murky! Where the hell are you? You’re a terrible partner! Tell your wife I love her.”
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